He peeked at his watch. Ten minutes had passed. Ten minutes that felt like a hundred or longer. The server gave him a look when he walked to the table behind him, a look that combined wonder and pity with a sprinkle of disdain. He raised his near-empty water glass and slowly sipped from it as he clandestinely scanned the area. No new guests stood at the door or in the waiting area. He placed the empty glass on the table, hoping the server, who was busy with the party behind him, would notice it but not him, sitting there like a putz, taking up the table, taking up space, wasting time, alone, by himself, waiting. He managed to overcome the urge to look at his watch, but knew she was late. Very late. The waiter repeated the table order to the guests and would pass by him again momentarily. He concentrated on a new dilemma: Should he call her or not? What would that look like? Desperate, impolite, rude, childish, obnoxious, impatient? Better not call. Okay, he won’t. Still, where is she? Did she forget about the whole thing? Would she be surprised to see his number on her screen and be embarrassed to answer? What if she is on her way over, stuck in traffic, parking her car, getting off her Uber ride, about to walk through the door? That would be embarrassing. Will it seem too soon? He decided not to call, so what’s up with that? But if she was late for any of those reasons or any other he hasn’t thought about, why hasn’t she called? He would, of course he would. But she is not him. He barely knows her. Is she delayed by something, a traffic jam, an accident? Did something happen to her? Now you think like your mom, he thought. No calling. Definitely not calling.
“Can I get you more water?” The waiter stopped by his table on his way to the kitchen.
“Yes, please.”
He followed the waiter with his gaze taking note of the scenery again. No change. That has got to be some kind of record. I mean, how much of a wait time makes you a loser? Not enough, he thought, but he already felt like one.
The server returned with a water pitcher and refilled his glass.
“Can I get you something while you wait?”
Do you have dignity on the menu?
He nodded. The waiter returned to the kitchen.
The front door opened, and he perked up. A couple walked in and stood by the host station. He lowered his gaze and slowly began to melt into his chair. She will probably not show up, not tonight, not ever. He tried to get up from his chair, but he could not move. Not yet.